Cats

The house at which I’m staying has two cats – Misty and Foggy. I swear they’re plotting against me. The older, fatter, fluffier cat – Misty – gives me that knowing look. The one where it’s formed a cunning and excessively detailed plan for my downfall, the one which I can’t stop. It’s the early morning glare it gives me when I won’t open the back door to let it out as I’m late and spilling cereal over myself.

In particular, the aspect of this cat I find most disturbing, is it’s ability to open doors. I’ve checked before I’ve gone to bed that my door is firmly shut, yet, somehow, come 3am, it claws and meows at the door, and then finds a way in. Wretched thing. The terror of being woken by clawing at the door, only to hear it swing open is not to be underestimated.

I was warned that the cat was strange. Apparently, it likes to hide in the bathroom, and once you’re in the shower, it joins you. I can only assume the cat is disturbed and out to get me.

I am not paranoid.

I’d attach a photo of said cat, but I think its hiding somewhere. Plotting again.